


the darkness i have honed from you

by geniewish



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: BUT the fantasy is not sexual its sexy but its violent, Blow Jobs, Burglary, Gun Kink, M/M, Mentions of Dismemberment, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder Fantasy, Power Imbalance, Sexual Fantasy, assassin hyungwon, attempted theft, but no actual murder and torture takes place, crime boss changkyun, descriptions of murder and torture, i dont know how to tell you this but they are NOT good people, pls behold the sex of love killa era hyungwon ie his best look, referenced kills and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewish/pseuds/geniewish
Summary: "I'll kill you slowly, but not softly."hyungwon breaks into changkyun's mansion to take his well-earned money. he leaves the mansion with no money but with a good dose of fear for his life. in other words, maybe he shouldn't have pointed a gun at his boss's head. or maybe it was a good thing he did.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Im Changkyun | I.M
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	the darkness i have honed from you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [showmeurteef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/gifts).



> this is a gift for my absolute fav person ever loml of the universe after hyungkyu, rae <3333 i hope u like what i did w the idea!!! thank u for ur support n love <333
> 
> for the rest of yus, here's a warning!!  
> \- they are Bad guys, they murder people, they are Immoral, and i mean it! take it as u want!!  
> \- dismemberment is mentioned in passing a few times, however an actual piece of human flesh appears in the beginning and is described in detail  
> \- by murder fantasy i mean they fantasise about murder, describe it in detail, and then get off  
> \- in my friend's words, not safe! not sane! but consensual 
> 
> title taken from hozier - better love. Not the mood of the fic but i just really like this particular line
> 
> if u decided that this fic is for u despite the tags (or bc of the tags), i hope u enjoy!!

Hyungwon kicks open large leaden doors and waltzes into the big red office. Changkyun is lounging on his green velvet couch in his shoes, phone in hands, neglect for the whole world on his face. He doesn’t spare Hyungwon a glance. 

Heavy boots thud and echo in the sour air – it stinks of blood and whiskey and Changkyun’s expensive perfume, though expensive doesn’t always mean good. Hyungwon approaches the low coffee table and throws a rotting head on the glass; a little blood from the neck splatters onto some plastic and powder and paper and other shit scattered all over it. The head rolls over, lies on the side of the greyish, waxy face. It’s cut ugly, uneven, the bone in the centre is cracked and some flesh is still oozing junk. Grimy black hair is bunched up where Hyungwon held it in a fist, swinging along the way. His hair is black and grimy too, though tastefully slicked back. He has to keep up his class. Changkyun prefers his men handsome.

“The head, sir,” Hyungwon says. He puts his feet together and folds his gloved hands at his front. 

Changkyun looks at it indifferently and nods. Hyungwon waits patiently, politely. Gawks with his big, bloodshot eyes. He hasn’t slept in a while – not of his own will. Changkyun doesn’t ever sleep at all either – willingly. His leopard print shirt is fresh. Hyungwon’s black suit is blacker with blood, black shirt sticks to his chest, but only if he pulls up his sleeve will he see a dry stain on his wrist.

Changkyun rolls his eyes and this time, turns to look at him. “What?”

“Payment, sir,” Hyungwon promptly reminds him. Changkyun looks back at his phone. Brat. “You haven’t paid me for the last two assignments.” He feels a little dizzy now that the kill adrenaline is worn off, and he wants nothing more than a cigarette and thick, juicy cheeseburger, but here’s the dilemma – what money is he going to get it with? He quit all his other jobs. Well, more like all his other jobs became _the job_. Changkyun hates other crime bosses. He thinks he’s a Sicilian or some shit. “Uhm, actually, the last ten assignments, but I thought I’d just take the full monthly wage next time, but, you see, I need to provide and––”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Changkyun interrupts and dismissively waves him off. “Come for it next week.”

Hyungwon inhales. He bounces on his heels once, squeezes one hand with the fingers on the other. “Sir, I work on assignment-based contract as per your insistence––”

“Do you see any fucking cash on me right now?” Changkyun snaps at him. His eyes are dark, not a spot of light reflecting from the yellow lamps.

Last sparks of adrenaline flare inside Hyungwon. “No,” he replies. There could be a stash behind the bar counter – should be – but there never is because Changkyun knows how to care for his shit. Hyungwon swallows. “Bank transfer?” he tries again. He really wants that cigarette, that cheeseburger, that twelve-hour sleep, that justice in the world, and also Changkyun’s head on the coffee table instead of the one he targeted. 

Changkyun huffs a little laugh. 

And continues staring at this phone. Hyungwon doesn’t exist to him. Ignore the motherfucker long enough, and he will fuck off in due time. 

Hyungwon has a tiny pocket knife strapped to his left wrist, another one on the sole of his shoe, a pistol in his jacket, and very steady hands when inspiration strikes. And it’s just about to drop a missile. 

Quietly, he walks around the coffee table and stands beside the couch at Changkyun’s feet. His boss looks up at him again, face just as careless – uncaring, to be more precise – but seemingly alert. He watches as Hyungwon squeezes himself between the furniture and politely sits by Changkyun’s side. Changkyun doesn’t say a thing but his eyes glare at Hyungwon without much content; cold, predatory, as if offended at such a blatant disrespect of his personal space. 

Hyungwon doesn’t mean to be disrespectful. Hyungwon only wants to establish a channel of mutual communication between them. 

Slowly, he brings his hands to Changkyun’s chest and pinches the lapels of his leopard shirt. Three stripes of golden necklaces rest below his neck, one pendant lying in the dip between his collarbones, the other hiding under his shirt. It would be so easy to grab them from behind and watch them dig into his skin, colour it pink with friction and then red with blood, and then, maybe, were it a wire saw, his head would be eventually resting on the table. 

But all Hyungwon does is tug on the lapels of Changkyun’s shirt – weakly, just enough to raise the fabric off his skin, and stares. Into Changkyun’s eyes, so dark no metaphor would cover the harshness of them. He is never scared, is he? Never spares Hyungwon a glance when he stabs a man in the throat right in his office. 

And when Hyungwon’s fists start trembling, he suddenly lets go. Wakes up. Some red is smudged in the whites of Changkyun’s leopard print. Hyungwon wipes the gloves on his trousers and stands up, stiff, strung up, why did he do that? Killer adrenaline, and cursed is the mind that never kills it. As if robotised, he takes his leave, but not without throwing the last look over his shoulder.

“Good night, sir,” and ends his wishes with a bow of his head. The heavy doors slam shut behind him. 

***

Changkyun’s house – a whole estate, really – with four storeys and a two-floor basement, a swimming pool in the backyard and mini-golf court. There’s a huge inflatable flamingo float, a banana-shaped beach sofa, sun loungers, and a poker table. The house itself is white; under inhabited rooms there’s pots with flowers on little European window sills; opening from the master chamber is a big hexagon balcony overlooking the pool.

The lanterns in the backyard are always lit. Top of the fence circling the estate is motion-sensitive, and what to say about the cameras on every corner. The alarm system is hi-tech, but Hyungwon knows his way around the blind spots. One time, Changkyun’s bodyguard showed him to the roof – to sit a sniper watch, just in case. He knows which fences are chipped at the tops. He has his hooks and wires to climb up the wall – a little old-fashioned, but he’s been eating into the whole James Bond mixed with a bit of _Mission Impossible_ aesthetic lately, with a dash of his own secret spy fantasy. Sure, he doesn’t drive a Lamborghini, but his suits are always stitched to his shoulders, and that’s enough.

On the roof of the neighbouring mansion he temporarily broke into, Hyungwon hides his binoculars and gets up. It’s four a.m., unlikely anyone will be found awake. He shoots his grapnel Mrs-Smith-without-her-Mister-style in the direction of the roof of Changkyun’s mansion and, once the hook is firmly planted behind the little window in one of the rooftop chimneys, places his rifle on the magnetic stand that’s stripped to the ground. If it breaks when he slides across the road from one house to another on a hanger, then it breaks.

But he is a precautious guy, so his little Mrs Smith trick carries him over the fence and almost slams him into the wall. He attaches the hanger (for lack of a better word) to the vest on his back and presses the button that extends the rope. Slowly, nicely, he climbs down. Third floor. A window to his left doesn’t have any flower pots, so it’s most likely locked, but the one to his right leads right into a drawing room where his boss poses nude for some pretentious European artist to paint him in baroque, which means it’s definitely unlocked because that European artist smokes more than a chimney on a Christmas day. 

Hyungwon is living his Spider-man fantasy with, perhaps, a little too much enthusiasm. He shuffles towards that window like a crab, puts his right foot on the window sill and accidentally tramples a flower, but it’s okay, because the window is unlocked, and Hyungwon only needs to slide it to the side as quietly as he can to break into Changkyun’s mansion. Easy. Effortless. Professional. Will go down on his hitman CV. 

His boots find the table first, and then he smoothly glides inside, detaches the hanger, and closes the window. Anyone walking by would be able to see the rope stretching between two buildings but, well, one can only hope they’d mistake it for an electric wire.

With steps quiet like a feather, Hyungwon crosses the dark drawing room to the door. Presses on the handle with so much care his fingers almost cramp. His leather gloves are a little old, a little rough, so they don’t squeak against the gilded surface. 

The whole mansion is submerged in the dark, not a source of light other than the Moon and the street lanterns showing him a way around the hallways, so Hyungwon fishes out a little torch and comes face to face with a terrible taxidermy of a growling leopard. Hyungwon stands still for a second, calms his heartbeat. Guides the flashlight to the left, to the next animal exhibit – a hyena. Nasty creatures. This one even has a white eye, probably shot during the hunt, or simply distorted for aesthetics.

Above the beastly display are Romantic scenic paintings on the white wall, probably Dutch, maybe Italian, and next to it are broken pieces of ancient weapons framed behind the glass. Nothing fits, everything is out of order, but to Changkyun this composition of the consequences of natural selection probably has some deeper meaning. Definitely deeper than the faux-philosophical modern avant-garde on the next display further down the hall. Tasteless. Chaotic. And this is only the third floor.

This hallway is more of an open space than a hallway. There is an arrangement of chairs and sofas around a table, a huge TV, some more paintings and undoubtedly fake Roman bust statues on carved column stands. This is a museum with no tickets to entry, and all Hyungwon is looking for is a safe with a fat load of money. He doesn’t need to stage a robbery to steal a Monet or a Magritte, he simply needs to crack a combination with an autodialer (estimated time: thirty minutes to six days) and dash for his life before sunrise. 

His boss must be, if not asleep by his own will, then at least knocked out by the copious amount of alcohol and weed. 

A big door a few metres away from him creaks open. 

Yellow light draws a long canvas on the marble floor, and in the halo of golden stands Changkyun, silk floral robe, undone, and tiger print briefs, tight.

His heart palpitates.

On some second-hand instincts, Hyungwon hides the torch and gets out a knife, points it at his boss, and subconsciously pats the gun in his pocket. He stands still; not the lapels of jacket, not a strand of his long greased up hair, not even his eyes move. 

Only his mouth does. “Why are you awake so late, sir?”

Changkyun stretches one arm, leans on the doorframe and simply says, “Was gonna work out.”

Before he can toss Hyungwon a question in return, Hyungwon blurts out, “At four a.m.?”

“Obviously.” Changkyun tilts his head to the side. “Why are you in my house at four a.m.?”

His tone is casual, _amused_ , and Hyungwon knows that Changkyun knows. Shadows hide the expanse of his muscled chest and rippled stomach, but Hyungwon knows exactly where to aim to dart the knife right into Changkyun’s heart, and Changkyun also knows that’s not what Hyungwon came here to do.

On the other hand…

He never really worked out a plan.

What a high-profile assassin can do after killing his crime boss? That’s right, get hired by another crime boss. He is loyal, he will mourn, he might even attend a funeral in disguise, but there’s still at least fifty more years on his bones, and he is rather curious to find out at what age his hands will start shaking when holding a gun.

“Well, I, uhm,” Hyungwon starts, bending his elbows and changing his grip, temporarily casting the thought of hurling the knife at his boss aside, “just came to check on you, sir. I was wondering if you froze the head I brought you, sir.”

Changkyun doesn’t smile with his mouth but with his eyes. They grin, they glint, even though they are eternally veiled in darkness. It’s a comic situation, really, having a casual chit-chat with your boss while gripping a gun in your pocket, and Hyungwon should ideally make a run for his life, pack his bags and leave town, but Changkyun blinks, leisured, amused, and makes a short huffy sound through his nose. 

“I told you I’ll give it to you next week. Are you that desperate for money?”

Hyungwon swallows. “You see, sir, I need to provide.” Changkyun quirks an eyebrow. “My younger brother got kicked out of the house after breaking my parents’ car, and until he finds a job and repays them for the damage and emotional distress, he’s not allowed back in, but he’s got college, and there’s so many fees to pay, and I’m the only help he will ever get in this world––”

“I know your backstory, you don’t need to ramble my ears off,” Changkyun sighs, though even ‘sigh’ is too emotional of a word for him. He’s got eyes of a predator. He doesn’t move. Hyungwon can’t decide if it’s adrenaline or panic kicking in.

“What are you gonna do? Kill me?” Changkyun asks, and it’s mocking in the subtlest of ways, barely a hitch in his voice and a twitch on his face. It cuts something inside Hyungwon, maybe the strings of sanity holding him back from shooting every unpleasant face he sees in the streets, maybe that particular string that connects Hyungwon’s loyalty to Changkyun’s allure of power, maybe just pride. 

Because Hyungwon does feel like panicking, and his kills are always twenty times messier in the state of total shutdown.

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” _but if you insist_ , Hyungwon leaves unsaid. “Sir,” he adds belatedly. 

Corners of Changkyun’s mouth finally stretch in a grin. Mature lines appear on either side of his nose and lips. He pushes himself off the door frame and starts walking towards Hyungwon, bare feet lightly slapping against the marble floor and silky robe flowing behind him. Like some vision of demonic divinity, he walks with the stance of a man who shoots his employees in the head for the slightest disobedience. 

Nothing in Hyungwon’s actions has been slight. Nothing in Changkyun’s smirking eyes chants mercy. So Hyungwon raises the knife in front of himself with intention to attack and gets out the gun, and Changkyun crosses the distance without a shiver, without a care in the whole fucking world. 

Changkyun used to have a therapist – a good one, at that – but then he tasked Hyungwon to kill her after she condemned his narcissism and sociopathy with something that sounded vaguely like ‘sickening’. 

He freeze-dried her hand and then burned it when he got tired of being associated with her. 

Hyungwon wonders which part of him Changkyun will turn into a wet specimen and then throw out the window as soon as the water turns yellow.

And then wonders no more because Changkyun stands right in front of him, that short and sturdy little man with unimaginable power, and licks his lips as he studies Hyungwon’s face. He looks up, but neither Hyungwon’s height nor the weapons pointed at him intimidate Changkyun even a tiny bit. Hyungwon swallows. Changkyun leans in and presses his neck against the blade. 

Right against the blade. 

And stares.

Hyungwon hasn’t blinked in god knows how long. If it were anyone but Changkyun, he’d say they’re staring at him with a challenge, with a silent _what are you gonna do about it?_ but this is Changkyun, and this – this show of a death wish – is his default mode, and if his heartbeat ever sped up, it would be because he likes it. Powerless little toy soldier Hyungwon who presses a gun to Changkyun’s temple with some third-eye awakening. 

The panic that rises to Hyungwon’s throat begins to feel suspiciously like baited anticipation. 

“Mm?” Changkyun hums, “Is this what you imagine every night before you go to bed?”

Slight exaggeration, but Hyungwon won’t deny the truth.

He stays silent, however, cautious not to scare off the cat. 

Changkyun presses himself closer, _closer_ by all means, and the knife would have slashed the skin if Hyungwon didn’t retreat his hand. Coward. 

And then he feels Changkyun’s lower stomach press into his crotch, palpably, intentionally, because Changkyun lives by oozing sex appeal like some fucking whore, and Hyungwon isn’t strong enough to pretend it means nothing to him. He’s not picky, he’d never deny a whore their payment, he never considered anyone to be below him. 

Changkyun goes down on his knees, and Hyungwon’s gun descends with him. Changkyun looks up at him from _below_ , and yet he still holds all the power, as if mining it from the underworld. He stares, silently taunting, greedily wanting. What the fuck does he want? To suck him off? At least Hyungwon will receive head before he loses his actual one. 

As the nimble fingers reach for his zipper, Hyungwon finds it in himself to rejoice. He’s really not picky. Neither about people nor about time and location. Changkyun quirks an eyebrow, fingers still around the button of his pants, and Hyungwon lightly taps the barrel of the gun on Changkyun’s temple in confirmation. He only ever coerces people into buying drugs.

Changkyun gets out Hyungwon’s soft cock and starts gently – unexpectedly gently – tugging it. His eyes are darker than the night, his nails are long like claws, but his palms are _soft_ , delicate, if only just a little calloused underneath his bony fingers. Hyungwon just realises that he could bite his fucking dick off, that he could kick him in the nuts, that there could be a little knife hidden in the pockets of his robe, and Hyungwon’s anticipation sours back to panic.

Sometimes, even a good suck isn’t worth it.

But Changkyun doesn’t do anything criminal, if only gets Hyungwon harder. He is practically naked beneath him, _beneath_ him, looking _up_ with all the narcissistic, murderous confidence he owns, and he licks his lips demonstratively when Hyungwon checks his grip on the gun. 

“Tell me something, Chae Hyungwon,” Changkyun starts. Hyungwon’s dick is standing boldly in front of his face, but he’s not even looking at it. Pity. He should learn to observe things further than his nose. “You’re devoted, aren’t you,” he states more than he asks. His dry hands continue just as carefully around his length. “Dedicated to your job, and in turn dedicated to me.”

Hyungwon is loyal. He prides himself on it. He doesn’t say a word in response. 

“Few things make me interested in a man,” Changkyun continues and then wraps his lips around the head of Hyungwon’s cock, never breaking eye contact. He suckles easily, his mouth wet and warm and small around him, and the absence of a toothy feeling rearranges Hyungwon’s panic into something else for the second time. 

When Changkyun backs away, some spittle glistens on the flushed skin, and he licks his lips, again demonstratively. “Tell me, Chae Hyungwon, how badly you wanna kill me.”

Hyungwon inhales fire and smoke. His lungs shrink, something astringent trickles down his digestive track, and the tips of his fingers grow cold.

“Sir, I,” he stutters and swallows, and Changkyun’s eyes hood with boredom. To rile him up? Or because he loses interest as fast as he gives a command… Changkyun likes things to get sickening, but Hyungwon is on the verge of breaking into a hysterical laughter. Defence mechanism.

“You got a gun at my head.” Changkyun’s deep rasp runs a shiver up Hyungwon’s flesh. “Do your fucking worst, Chae Hyungwon, feel at home.” And with this he resumes sucking him off as if this is just a casual hookup in a dingy bathroom stall.

Maybe that's right. Relax. It’s just another handsome man on his knees for you.

“Well, I would, uhm,” Hyungwon rearranges his grip again, cold fingers now growing clammy under the leather gloves. “I would make sure you don’t suspect anything. Catch you off guard, so to say. So your death is the most unexpected thing to ever happen to you. Sir.”

Changkyun stares at him, lips pursed and stretched around his girth, cheeks sunken in, delicate claws holding him up loosely. Unimpressed. He is unimpressed. 

“I’d probably just, uh, shoot you. Several times. And then watch you bleed,” Hyungwon forces himself to stop because he can’t do this on a sharp mind, doesn’t think he can, and he feels heavy.

Changkyun’s mouth slips off him, his lips slick and already a little ruddy. “Details, give me the details.” Deep, coarse, teeming with darkness. 

And then something clicks. Hyungwon presses the barrel flat against his boss’s temple, and Changkyun’s head sways lightly the side. He blinks slowly, and when he looks up again, his eyes seem impossibly blacker than ever before. Hyungwon is used to it by now; it doesn’t scare him, it _encourages_ him. If Changkyun wants to taunt him, so be it. His word is his command. His command is Hyungwon’s penny in the pocket.

The heavy in his guts slides to his organ. Sharp blades in his brain dull and rust, and the panic rises in flames like adrenaline. Fills his rotten skull like venom in a flask. 

“I’ll kill you slowly,” Hyungwon says. His voice is cold but the words are burning on his tongue. God, how long he’s waited to tell Changkyun all about it. “I’ll kill you slowly, but not softly.” Changkyun sucks down on him, takes more of Hyungwon’s dick in his mouth. “I’ll kill you in your office. Catching you off guard wouldn’t be so fun. I want the idea of your murder to plague your mind for days before it happens. I’ll make you wonder, will I use a gun to relieve you of your suffering, or will I chop you bit by bit until you can’t scream anymore?”

The head of his cock hits the back of Changkyun’s throat. He makes a muffled gagging sound but doesn’t back off. Stares at Hyungwon. Listens. His eyes seem a little bit bigger, but maybe it’s the fisheye effect Hyungwon has permanently installed in his head when his vision paints in red. 

“I’ll play with you for a little while, scar you to see how pretty you can bleed. Maybe I’ll start with your neck––no, your chest. I want to leave the best for last. I’ll draw a hieroglyph on your chest since you like them so much. I’ll draw something humiliating. Or maybe I’ll carve the word ‘bitch’ just above your belly. I’ll take my time with you, but this is obviously just a game, you won’t even make a sound.”

Changkyun starts earnestly jerking him off with both hands, bopping his head at the same time. Hyungwon spins the knife in his hand, brings it down to Changkyun’s shoulder. The dark gaze shifts for the first time, observes the tips of the silver blade run along the thin delicate lapels of his robe. 

“I don’t like that you’re quiet. I want to make you scream. So I shoot you in the leg, aiming precisely in the muscle so that it hurts but you don’t bleed yourself to death. You want to reach for your wound, maybe your survival instincts finally kick in – though I seriously doubt you still have any left – but I step on your wrist. Hard. We both hear it crack, and I think I see tears in your eyes?”

Changkyun’s eyes don’t glimmer in the shadows, but Hyungwon’s knife does as he leads it under the robe and slips it off his shoulder. Broad, muscular, tainted with black tattoos. Hyungwon could carve out the entire drawing on his back and hang his skin like a painting that Changkyun is so obsessed with becoming. 

“No use for a broken wrist. You like it when I bring you trophies, don’t you, sir? But have you ever thought about what a precious trophy _you_ would make? I’m sure there is a very, very high stake for a single finger on your hand. Should I cut off your fingers one by one and make you scream harder with every new digit, or should I cut off your limb and then make you watch as I rid that dead, useless hand of its fingers?”

Changkyun’s harsh breathing dances along Hyungwon’s inflamed skin, his throat constricts, tight, tighter, and Hyungwon’s stomach knots too, tight, tighter. Behind his eyes is Changkyun’s red, hysterical face, but before him is his boss’s predatory gaze, tense, intense, enraged, _turned on_. Hyungwon wants to curse, sweat seems to seep through the leather of his gloves, and were it not for past military training, his knees would buckle with how fast Changkyun is sucking the strength out of him.

“I’m leaning towards the second. How does it feel to have your property stolen from you and watch it get destroyed? Mm, sir? Feels unfair, right?” He doesn’t have it in himself to tease, he’s not even thinking about angering Changkyun or torturing him or upsetting him. Neither of the three is possible––or, well, a little anger is never missing. “Now you’re getting lightheaded, weak from all the blood loss, your body is barely coping with the pain, but before you die, I want to see you choke. I want to see you choke on your pride, on your belief in immortality, on your discard for other people’s lives. You’re learning what if feels like to die, and maybe you’re thinking you’ll go with a blast, maybe you’re thinking the excruciating pain will make you catch that high you always dreamed of achieving, but let me tell you, sir, that I won’t let you go until I break every single bone in your body, and after I messily, like an amateur with no experience, slit your throat, I’ll continue tearing you apart until your very last breath. Your last moments are silent, mouth filled with too much blood that you can’t even gag on it.”

And then he falters, every muscle tensing against his will as Changkyun tightens and tightens around his length, as his eyes gloss over even in the darkness, as his pretty fingers work him with _honesty _. Hyungwon assumes this is honest. Changkyun’s lids flutter.__

__On the last bits of insanity, he continues, “And at the end of it all, after you’re beautifully dead, I chop off your head with my rusty old knife, like a fucking amateur, and make it into a trophy. They’ll be offering me millions for your round little head, but I don’t need any of that, because watching the miserable, rare sparkles of life dull in your eyes, is the greatest reward I could possibly receive.”_ _

__Hyungwon moans then, bites on the inside of his lip to keep himself grounded, retain his grip on the gun, maintain eye contact with the man he has long made a corpse in his foreign imagination. He curses silently, his hips stutter and his cock pushes further into Changkyun’s willing throat, and he clutches the knife close to himself._ _

__“Permission to come on your face, sir?” he breathes out._ _

__Changkyun quickly slides off him and strokes his whole length with quick hands. “In my mouth. I like my face clean.”_ _

__And as he takes him back in, Hyungwon lets go. There’s a ringing sound in his ears, the darkness of the mansion floods his vision, but he distinctly hears Changkyun gag and grunt and gasp when he releases him, and only when Hyungwon’s fingers instinctively curl around the gun that he brings himself back to consciousness and sees Changkyun swallow his all._ _

__And then this consciousness brings him back to sanity._ _

__Everything unclicks, everything solidifies and freezes, everything scopes on the sharp outlines of Changkyun’s face, and Hyungwon’s adrenaline has never fallen to his heels so fast._ _

__He hides the knife and the gun. Tucks himself back in. Changkyun watches him still, even though Hyungwon’s eyes are running._ _

__“Thank you, sir,” he blurts out, and instead of a competent escape plan he wistfully thinks about the missing opportunity to do his boss a favour in return._ _

__“Do you want the fucking money or not––”_ _

__Hyungwon cuts him off by breaking into a run._ _

__“Good night, sir!” his voice echoes in the hallway, and the thuds of his boots echo too._ _

__When he flies out of the window, with the grapnel breaking the chimney and the hanger slipping off the rope just a few meters above the ground, Hyungwon fucks the assassin code about never leaving any evidence behind, especially on civilians' territory and most definitely on the scene of the crime, and runs away._ _

__His head remains on his shoulders for another day._ _

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed!!! and dear darling i hope u liked it!!!
> 
> im on twt @chaeleggiewon


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